WHERE'S THE PATENT?
WHERE'S THE PROPRIETARY?
I'LL CRUSH YOU LIKE THE COCKROACH YOU ARGLBARGHLBARGHHL
Kevin is the best Shark. Prove me wrong. Pro tip:You can't.
There's nothing proprietary about your memes, you post them one time and then blam, every reddit and 9gag user out there has them and are spreading them around and devaluing them faster than I can say I'm out
>>70256400
>>faster than I can say I'm out
>the guy asks Kevin if he's out right after
>I'll give you $200,000 for 30%, however because you didn't accept by the time I finished this sentence, I'm out
I'LL GIVE YOU 750 THOUSAND FOR THIS FUCKING DOG
>faster than light travel isn't something I can peddle to 80 year old women on QVC, and for that reason, I'm out
>While your reverse BLACKED device seems to be worth pursuing, you didn't invite me to your bbq last weekend, and for that reason I'm out.
>>70256435
>>70256621
>>70256659
>>70259448
I laughed. These are quality.
>>70256350
Oh but I can
>I’m going to cut in right now Mr. Wilson, because someone needs to stop this charade you’re calling a pitch. When I was a mere boy my mother came home from one of her many business trips to South Africa. Only this time she had brought with her a gift – an antique, in a sense. “It” was an ancient looking African man she referred to as Po’mamba. He stayed with us for many weeks, keeping me awake at night with strange chanting. I became so frustrated by the never ending stream of nonsensical noise my angry tears began to stain the front of my child-fitted Armani suits. On the fourth week, I came home from school early on account of Butch Charleston ruining my favorite handkerchief at recess. But the noises I heard from my manor were different that day. Peeking in the nearest window, I saw my mother surrounded by dark shapes, Po’mamba’s back against the glass. His chanting drowned out the sounds of my mother as I watched the surging black mass with confusion – until I realized it was a group of men. African men, slamming their cocks into my mother’s every orifice as she begged for more through two throbbing members occupying her mouth. All noise suddenly stopped. Po’mamba stepped forward, ripping off the tattered cloth that covered his crotch. An implausibly large penis flopped down between his legs which he guided into my mother’s bruised womanhood. The other gentlemen continued the chants. After what seemed like hours, Po’mamba released his load which oozed out through the small pockets of empty space between her flesh folds and his cock. A small speck of his thick semen fell from his glands as he exited, landing on the living room’s priceless Isfahan carpet. My day was perfect before your appearance here Mr. Wilson. I had breakfast with Buffet and Trump. I even made sweet love to Barbara on Lincoln’s original bed earlier. Your deal is the nigger semen stain on my priceless rug of a day. And for that reason, I’m out.
>Have you ever drank a glass of black rhinoceros blood? Of course not, I was just being colloquial to start this story with an anecdote. The first time I had a glass I was in South Africa, taking a celebratory drink in Johannesburg after completing a successful hunt. You see, in South Africa they don't hunt lion, or elephant. We hunted a more dangerous game: the kaffir, or black man. I finally had a 7 year old boy cornered in an Oingo Bongo merchandise warehouse when the thoughts passed through my mind: Should I pull the trigger? Can I ever come back to who I was before this moment? I pulled the trigger, made my first 100 million dollars. Mr. Johnson, this is something you need to ask yourself: can I pull the trigger on this deal and make thr right choice? 10% funding for 85% ownership and prima nocte rights to your daughters
